Music Box of Time
by silentpokefreak01
Summary: It didn't matter if it was true or not, everything he said only brought him closer to his ultimate decision. Inspired by The Music Box of Time. Luka's POV. LenxNeru. Oneshot.


Music Box of Time

A/N: It's missing something, but here it is anway...

His eyes were wide, the colors of shock and desperation dulling the green. Weren't they blue we had first met?

He mouthed something, reaching out to touch the well-crafted box. His gloved fingers ran across the grooves of the ornament, liquid rolling down his cheeks.

His tale is just another.

Similar, but not the same.

It was his own story, carefully sculpted and moulded, distinctive and truly unique.

Ah, what love did to people.

~XxX~

"She used to run up to me, kiss me, then skip away like nothing ever happened."

It didn't matter if it was true or not, everything he said only brought him closer to his ultimate decision.

"I bet she was a pretty one." I searched through my cupboards and shelves. It had to be here somewhere.

"Absolutely gorgeous."

Finally, my fingers wrapped around a small, rusted chain. I smiled in victory. This boy would be mine, too. His messy blonde hair fell across his promising blue eyes.

"She always used to tell me that no matter what, I had to keep smiling." This was going to be easier than I thought. This boy was thoroughly consumed with his love for the girl he had been going on about. Not like I was complaining.

"Her eyes, they must've been beautiful, too. Do you remember what color they were?" I quickly hid the necklace behind my back. Time to find the next piece.

"How could I forget?" he chuckled a bit, staring at the table, covered in an expensive red tablecloth with golden trim. There were two teacups, both resting on China saucers. The tea set was just as delicate - intricate patterns were cautiously painted on.

"They were a delicious amber. I could never forget those eyes."

I had to keep him busy, so that he wouldn't be suspicious about my frantic searching. He tightened his small ponytail, catching his tears as they fell from sad eyes.

"How tall was she?"

Every thought about her put a slight smile on his face and more tears in his eyes. His gloved hands were set on the table, unmoving as he rambled about the girl he had lost.

"She only came up to my shoulders. She was short in an adorable way." I soon spotted the black record, with a gold cover. I grabbed it before heading to find the final part.

"How old was she when she left?"

"16." He seemed to be getting more and more distressed with each question.

"I was 15 when she passed." He was stumbling over his words a bit more, the table suddenly becoming the center of attention.

"You were quite young when she perished." The rows of boxes were neatly stacked, each with tags.

"It was 5 years ago, I don't know how I still love her." He choked on his words, though he wasn't crying yet. I couldn't help but pity him. The poor teen would never get over his first love.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" It was against everything I knew, but this was too easy. I sat down across from him, placing a picture frame, the box, the locket and the record on the table.

"I need to see her again." Tears of my own began to collect.

"This is her, right?" The picture of the blonde girl was light and carefree. She truly was beautiful - her long hair swirled around her like in the fairytales.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, taking the picture in his hands.

"I have my sources." He didn't seem bothered by my vague response, only completely intrigued at the photo.

"It's the same one in my locket, is all." The way he set the picture down was like it was the most precious thing on Earth. He grasped a chain from his neck, a pendant dangling down from the shining gold chain. Inside, on the right, was the same picture of the girl. On the left was a picture of the two, both dressed to the nines, her small figure in his arms. This young man knew how to tug on the heartstrings, even if he didn't know it.

"She hated dressing up, but as long as we did it together, she would tolerate it." They looked like a married couple, gleefully snapping memoirs of their day.

"I bet she's wearing a big, extravagant dress now, and all the angels are fawning over her." His laugh was cute, making him sound like a young boy.

"I...I'm sure you're right." Even his smile was adorable.

"D-do you recognize this, too?" I began playing the record on my nearby phonograph. His emotions were beginning to get the best of him.

"This was her favorite song." He cried quietly, starting sniffle and barely able to speak. My heart sank further.

"And... this locket was hers as well, correct?" I handed the jewelry to him.

"I gave this to her on her 12th birthday. Where did you find it?" His questions were spoken with his whole heart. Gloved fingers played with the lock on the pendant.

"Her brother gave it to me." Lying was the only way to do this. The charm finally opened, revealing two pictures, one on each side - just like his.

"The pictures are the same, as always." On the right was a picture of himself, a cheeky smile innocently slapped onto his face. On the right was the same picture as he had, the two of them dressed in elegant attire. How much sadder could this get?

...

What was I even thinking? I wasn't supposed to feel compassion for this young man, or anyone at all. It is only my job to help them make important decisions in their lives, whether they are good or bad. To help them move on - or back into - their past.

"And this is her, right?"

I opened the box, showing him the contents. Inside was a minuscule figurine of his dead lover, her plastic yellow hair circling her body quite a few times. The inside cover had a mirror. She wasn't posed like the others usually were; instead, the statuette stood proudly, in a relaxed and casual position.

His eyes were wide, the colors of shock and desperation dulling the green. Weren't they blue we had first met?

He mouthed something, reaching out to touch the well-crafted box. His gloved fingers ran across the grooves of the ornament, liquid rolling down his cheeks.

"Please, let me see her." His once smooth voice began cracking, eyes begging me to help him.

"What is your name?" All this time, I had not known his name, but I did know the name of the girl he seemed to be obsessed with. He shook the tears out of his eyes.

"Kagamine Len."

"Kagamine-san," I started slowly and dramatically, carefully taking the box from him.

"If you do this, you cannot come back." I wound up the music box, the song which she had apparently come to love stinging my ears again. He was silent.

"This music box contains every happy memory you have with everyone. Your family, friends, even the girl you have come to adore." He seemed to like that idea.

"How much did you love her? Truly."

"If I could've died instead of her, I would have gladly done it." He wasn't hesitant about his answer at all - it was straightforward and to the point, although his voice was still pitchy.

"This is the girl you'd happily spend the rest of your forever with?"

"My forever and ever." He was determined to do this. Enough was enough. I had helped him quite a bit already. The tune finally stopped.

"If you'd really like to see her," Green eyes only widened.

"All you have to do is look into the mirror on the box, close your eyes, and wish from the bottom of your heart."

I began playing the music again, as he began to stare intently at the mirror. His emerald eyes shut, as he concentrated as hard as he could on his wish;

"I want to spend forever with her."

Blinding light.

It had worked.

The intense illumination settled quickly, though a few orbs of light still remained ablaze in the room. That was the most powerful reaction I had seen yet. I quickly lunged for the music box.

Instead of one figurine, there were two; one of the girl the boy had loved so deeply and the other of the boy that had such a passion for the girl. Their love was even reflected in their dolls. I sighed deeply. Why hadn't my love loved me as deeply as this man had for this girl?

I shook the thoughts out of my head. I picked the box from the table, winding it up as much as I could before set it above my fireplace. This story was one of my favorites.

Another ring came to my door.

More stories to brush past me.

Each story is just another.

Similar,

But not the same.


End file.
